


Sync this.

by Whirleeq



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Crack, Gen, assassins creed III, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whirleeq/pseuds/Whirleeq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill for prompt:  So basically, William Miles says that Vidic put him in the animus, but he did not cooperate. This must be exploited for the sake of crack. Would love some random animus moments in any of the lives of any of the assassins where William does the completely wrong thing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sync this.

William had never been a fan of the animus. Flitting about in Altair's and Ezio's memories had always felt _wrong_ to him on a level he could never fully explain, much to the consternation of the other assassins. Rebecca, in particular, constantly saw fit to remind him that _'by the way, Desmond is not the only descendant, don't you know, and wouldn't it be nice to give Desmond a break once in a while?'_ On the many occasions when she was really pissed off, she would bring up Daniel or Clay and not so subtly remind him that combined, the two spent a fraction of the amount of time in the animus that Desmond had, and hey, look at how whack-a-doodle crazy both of them ended up.

It was frustrating, because if he had any other choice – _any at all, up to and including volunteering himself –_ he would choose it, rather than subject his own son to one more moment in that thing. But he couldn't volunteer himself without going the kind of bat shit crazy that Desmond seemed rather immune to – he never was able to synch with his ancestors _at all_. 

Desmond, however, wore Altair, Ezio and Connor like a pair of fitted kid leather gloves. He occupied those memories with every fiber of his being, as if they were ingrained within his very soul. Desmond's synchronization rate in the animus was the highest of any assassin, ever – and William would bet any templar as well. It would explain so very much about Vidic's obsession with finding his son, when there were many others of their lineage leading easily accessible, mundane lives.

The only time Desmond showed even a hint of instability was during the short period of time he had spent in the animus reliving the memories of one Haytham Kenway. The anxiety, aggressiveness, and sheer agitation Desmond had shown, in retrospect, was a sure sign of the animus poisoning his mind. William had been too blind with rage at his son's words and frustrated with Desmond's complete disrespect for their creed and their all important mission for William to recognize how very out of character Desmond had been acting when they had their not so little fight.

He regretted his words and actions, and oh, how he understood the boy, now that Vidic kept forcing him into the damned thing. It was, no doubt, the same accursed machine that Desmond had spent the better part of a year in, reliving memories over and over and over that _did not belong to him_. William's grip on his sanity was slipping, slowly but surely, with every synchronization bar.

Vidic was growing increasingly desperate to find _anything_ that might help him locate another piece of Eden, preferably another apple. And so, William found himself flitting through the life and times of his ancestors at a dizzying speed and rate. It was slowly and surely eating at the edges of his rapidly degrading sanity. Worse, Vidic kept 'changing the channel' on him, so to speak, so he would jump from one assassin to another mid-memory.

It wasn't long before he realized that if he was going to maintain any semblance of sanity, his best bet was to be desynchronized as soon and as often as possible, which meant he spent a lot of time falling and dying. Vidic grew wise to this, though, and the bastard had one of his engineers update the animus with neural stimulants, so that William's physical body felt real pain each time he fell off a cliff, jumped in the water as Altair, or allowed a bunch of templar guards to run him through with their blades. So, no more dying in the animus.

 _'That's okay'_ , he thought, ' _I can be creative_.'

Fucking with Abstergo and not going crazy in the process were just added bonuses.

The first opportunity came up when he was reliving an early memory of Altair's. Saladin's men were pushing Altair's father over to a platform where he would be summarily executed in front of the future Grand Master Assassin, traumatizing the poor boy for life. His 11 year old animus avatar pushed to the front of the crowd, tears dripping down his virtual cheeks, with William along for the ride. Any moment now, the Saracen would kill Umar Ibn-La'Ahad, and poor little Altair would scream and rant and rage as he watched his father die. William had a feeling that Vidic was making him relive this particular memory just to be an ass, and he damn well wasn't going to play his game.

“That's it!” He shouted out in English, throwing his hands up in the air. “I'm not watching an execution without popcorn. It's just _wrong_.”

Umar Ibn-La'Ahad, up on the execution platform, smirked at him.

“ _And puppies. We need puppies,”_ the man responded in Arabic, right before the executioner fitted the noose around his neck.

William snorted in bemusement, feeling a dizzying kinship with the soon-to-be-dead man, who most definitely did not historically answer his son's cries in that fashion. He didn't have long to muse on what the hell had actually happened before he desynchronized into the white loading screen of the animus, Vidic swearing at him profusely from above.

He supposed he should have expected to find himself, once again, witness to an execution, because Vidic was just that kind of asshole when he didn't get his way. This time, of most of Ezio's family.

 _'Yeah,'_ William thought to himself. _'I'm not sticking around here either.'_

He turned and faced the man who was Ezio's dad, trying to ignore the boys he could see peripherally. No need to give Vidic the satisfaction of seeing him crack.

“Sucks to be you,” William said, shaking Ezio's head in sympathy. “I'm not sticking around to watch though – there are some good courtesans around here, and Ezio has heavy pockets. 

Once again, the man about to die smirked at him, his eyes positively sparkling with mirth.

“ _And I shall do the same, when I am you.”_

There was no animus loading screen as he desynchronized, probably because Vidic was physically pulling him out of damn the thing by his shirt.

“Woah, there. Careful with the hands – that's Armani you are manhandling.”

He saw the blow coming towards his head before it hit, and he willingly fell into the blackness when it did; unconsciousness was a much better alternative than another second in the damned animus.

When he awoke two days later with a black eye and a bump on his head the size of an egg, he found himself physically strapped down to the accursed machine with Vidic looming over him, his face as red as a cheery tomato.

“You are going to cooperate this time, Mr. Miles, or I am going to kill you, apple be damned. I will record the ordeal, put it on youtube, and email a link to your son. Believe me when I say it is in your best interests _to stop fucking with me_.”

William rolled his eyes at the empty threat, as the animus booted up once again. This time, on the frontier.

He was in between key memories; it seemed that Vidic had far less knowledge and control of the memories of Connor Kenway than he did of the others, so the Templar had just dumped him into some random moment in the assassin's life. Good for him; he'd spend as much time as he could spinning wheels, just to see how long it took to piss Vidic off again. And anyway, his head hurt like a son of a bitch; even deeply immersed in the animus he felt the throbbing. So it wasn't as if he had any motivation to actually do anything so mentally exhausting as actually _synchronizing_.

William was able to get away with collecting feathers, stabbing and skinning beavers, and lock picking chests for _three whole days_ before Vidic pulled him out of the animus to blacken his other eye and tell him to get a move on. By then, his headache was pretty much gone.

Once again, he found himself on the frontier, which he didn't actually expect, considering how much time he had already fucked around in it. This time, the animus booted up with him in the Kanatahséton village, instead of in Troy's wood. William found himself half wondering if Vidic actually knew that there was an apple here at one time. Not that it mattered; he wasn't going to go anywhere near where the apple was located anyway, thank you very much. Instead, William spent time conversing in Mohawk with the tribe's inhabitants and smoking a little kinukkinuk around the fire, which gave him a nice mellow zen that transferred to his physical body.

_'Huh, must be an actual memory – Desmond's going to be so jealous'._

Somehow, William managed to stuff his pipe and a bit of the crazy Native American frontier weed in Connor's pouch before Vidic changed the channel on him once again.

In the loading screen, he checked the pouch, and smirked to himself to find the pipe and weed still there.

So when Haytham jumped him and asked him if he had any last words, his answer was “let's get stoned.”

Haytham seemed to find the idea acceptable – _of course he would, it was his own former life he was propositioning with mind altering substances. William always liked the exotic, in any life –_ and the two of them shared quite a few tokes from the pipe he borrowed in silence.

When no sign of desynchronization was imminent, William turned to his former self and scowled.

“You know, if you would have gotten your shit together with Des—err, Connor, my life would be so much easier.”

“My son is naïve and impossible and a great big thorn in my side. But Ziio...”

“Yeah, brother, I hear you. She was pretty hot.”

“That she was.”

It would be the last thing he would hear in the animus before he was pulled out and unceremoniously shoved into a cell by two burly templar agents, albeit with a few more bruises.

Later, after Desmond lays waste to the entire fucking building, and questions him about the bruises, he shrugs and smiles.

“Worth it.”


End file.
